UPGRADE

You hustle me up to the third floor, where only
the most moneyed vultures hold a perch, straight
past reception, littered with many a carcass that
died mid-translation, and into the executive suite,
to a red leather-bound chair with all strings
attached.

I catch myself for a split second, inside the gold-
framed mirror in the spotless private bathroom off
to one side. I give myself a high-five, and what
the hell, a year-end bonus. Such a rarified
atmosphere...

You put me in my seat and lean over me and tell
me not to panic as the emergency lights kick in.
You guide me through it, every step of the way...